


Home

by lary



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, Felching, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Post-Season/Series 02, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 06:37:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5529656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lary/pseuds/lary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A reunion between the Holmes brothers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

 

 

“Oh God,” Sherlock complained as Mycroft slid into him once more slowly and gently, holding his hips in a tight grip to prevent him from pushing back into it. “I never thought it possible, but you've become even lazier while I was gone.”

 

Mycroft refused to rise to the goading and continued his gentle pace. Much as the feel of Sherlock's body surrounding his cock in velvety heat made him want to throw caution to the wind and pound into his brother fast and rough, the welts and bruises on Sherlock's back were a grim reminder of what a bad idea it would be. They probably shouldn't have been doing this much, but it had been too long; having Sherlock back in his arms stripped Mycroft defenceless.

 

“You have two cracked ribs that have yet to heal, brother dear, as well as bruising on two thirds of your back. Forgive me if I do not wish to add to your injuries.”

 

“Dull.”

 

“Unimaginative as ever.” Mycroft slowed his thrusts further, which made Sherlock groan and hang his head in resignation. Mycroft smiled. Perhaps he couldn't satisfy Sherlock's eagerness for a good hard fucking, or his own urge to _take._ That, however, didn't negate the plethora of other means he had in his possession that would provide Sherlock the pleasure he craved, means that would allow Mycroft to lay his claim and overload Sherlock's mind and body with sensation until he was reduced to a wrecked shell of physical needs.

 

Even bruised, undernourished, and exhausted as Sherlock was, Mycroft was forced to admire his beauty. Having his brother in his bed, braced on his hands and knees, was as exquisite as ever. Mycroft ran his palm softly over Sherlock's back and sank his fingers into the black curls, then back across the expanse of skin, at the same time using his other hand to locate the lubricant. Sherlock misinterpreted his intentions, sighing loudly in protest as Mycroft applied liberal amounts on his fingers and pulled out nearly all the way. But instead of adding slick to the penetration, he eased the tip of his index finger gently past Sherlock's rim.

 

“Oh,” Sherlock breathed out in surprise, the unexpected stretch stealing his whole focus. Mycroft could see the muscles on his thighs quivering. Sherlock moaned long and low as Mycroft slid the finger further in alongside his cock, bracing his other hand on Sherlock's hip and going slowly to allow his brother time to adjust. The unguarded noise made it straight to Mycroft's groin and made his patience crumble in pieces. He added another finger on his next thrust in, the brilliant tightness making his cock throb as much as Sherlock's tortured _oh oh oh_ , but he didn't allow his voice to waver.

 

“Insatiable, aren't you? Terrible how you must have missed me.”

 

“The only thing I missed about you is your cock.”

 

“Always so crude,” Mycroft chided.

 

Sherlock huffed a laugh which broke into a panting moan as Mycroft pushed in again. He had to catch his breath, but still refused to let Mycroft get the last word. “That's rich, coming from the man fucking his little brother.”

 

Looking at the frankly obscene way Sherlock's pink hole was stretched around two of his fingers and his cock, Mycroft was rather impressed that the response was still coherent enough to understand. Mycroft was having more trouble. There hadn't been many meetings while Sherlock had been dismantling Moriarty's network and the few they'd managed had been secretive and rushed, taking advantage of whatever shabby living quarters Sherlock had holed up in for the night. The circumstances hadn't been conductive for anything beyond desperate kisses and handjobs that were too rough and over much too quickly.

 

He'd missed Sherlock terribly. Not that he intended to express it in so many words, but he suspected it was evident to his brother nonetheless. Sherlock had likely inferred it from their kisses alone, if not from the way Mycroft hadn't ceased touching him from the moment he closed the front door separating them from the rest of the world.

 

He couldn't even feel embarrassed by his need, not when Sherlock was clearly equally starved for his touch. Although Mycroft wasn't given to fanciful thought, he couldn't help but believe that they were as irreversibly connected in body as they were in mind. He'd certainly missed Sherlock's intellectual company, had felt its absence keenly each day his brother was away. Not that they saw each other daily in normal circumstances, but they were both used to near constant contact via either phone calls or text messages depending on which of them got his way. Nothing came close to being in Sherlock's presence and the sense of understanding between them which required few words.

 

Sex, Mycroft supposed, might have turned out to be be a mere extension of that mental connection. Years ago when they had first crossed the line to physical intimacy, it had felt like pieces of a puzzle falling in place. However, it had soon became apparent that their physical connection had a life of its own. It was everything Mycroft disavowed in other areas of his life: messy, driven by instinct and sentiment, uncontrolled. At times he'd wished he could give it up, but once he'd had a taste of Sherlock's body there had been no erasing the imprint it had left on him.

 

Right now, however, stopping was the furthest thing from his mind. Sherlock was leaning on his elbows, face pressed into a pillow which did little to muffle his moans of pleasure. By now, Sherlock's body was accepting the penetration with such ease that Mycroft would have considered adding a third finger if he weren't hanging onto his control by a thread as it was.

 

“Touch yourself, Sherlock. You had better do it quickly if you wish to come.”

 

“Ohh, fuck,” Sherlock cursed, panting for breath as he leaned his weight on one arm and wrapped a hand around his weeping erection. “Lazier than ever-- God, I knew it, _ahh fuck_ \--”

 

Sherlock barely needed two stokes before he was coming, his muscles tightening impossibly, and Mycroft let go. He pulled his fingers out none too gently and dug his nails into his brother's thigh, his other hand tightening on his hip and pulling Sherlock closer as he thrust in. He could smell Sherlock's come, wanted to taste it, wanted to consume him whole and drown into him.

 

“Mycroft,” Sherlock gasped, his voice broken and needy, cutting right through to Mycroft's core and through the last threads of his control, pushing him over the edge. He panted out Sherlock's name as he rode his orgasm, emptying his seed deep into his brother's body, his blood singing with red-hot pleasure.

 

Sherlock slumped down onto his stomach, his body releasing Mycroft's cock in the process. He didn't seem to care that he landed right into the wet spot on the sheets and that there was lube and cum dripping onto his thighs. He was positively filthy and the sight caused Mycroft's chest to tighten. He lowered himself carefully onto his elbows and licked a broad stripe up Sherlock's thigh and over his hole, enjoying his own taste mingled with his brother's. He observed with fascination when Sherlock squirmed in response.

 

“Ugh, Mycroft,” he murmured into the pillow.

 

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, even though Sherlock couldn't see it. “Don't tell me you're suddenly squeamish.”

 

“'M not squeamish. You're being disgusting.” Sherlock squirmed more as Mycroft repeated the action, lapping over his hole and dipping his tongue inside its slick warmth. “Ugh, stop it.”

 

“How interesting. Not all of you seems to agree,” Mycroft said, relishing the faint flush of embarrassment and arousal that was spreading over Sherlock's back as he ran his tongue over the puckered skin once more. “I could of course stop, but it would be a shame to leave you in such a state.”

 

He confirmed his suspicion by sneaking a hand around to Sherlock's cock, which was indeed rising to attention, amazingly quickly. Mycroft might have lamented not being that young anymore, but he couldn't feel very regretful with his brother's erection pressing hot and hard against his palm. Sherlock's flesh was slippery with ejaculate and clearly very sensitive, for he released a pained sound when Mycroft moved his hand experimentally. But when Mycroft ceased the motion, Sherlock growled in protest.

 

“I'm not going to break, Mycroft. You don't have to be so damnably gentle all the time.”

 

Mycroft pressed a kiss on his lower back, smiling into the skin. “As you wish, my darling.”

 

He didn't leave Sherlock time to voice a complaint about the term of endearment. He spread Sherlock's cheeks with one hand and lowered his mouth to Sherlock's arse, at the same time tightening the hand on his cock. Sherlock flinched involuntarily, pushing up, and Mycroft took the opportunity to lick inside him. He found the taste of his brother no more unpleasant after having fucked him than any other time, sweat and his come tangled with Sherlock's musk, and Sherlock's obvious arousal made the experience even better. It was a rare occurrence that he managed to discover a new kink, and he relished it.

 

Sherlock was falling apart underneath him, alternating between seeking more of the sensations and clawing the sheets with a keening sound that would have sounded like distress if Mycroft didn't know better. As it was, he gave his brother what he'd asked for, losing himself in reading the signs of pleasure from Sherlock's body until it was almost like he was feeling it himself.

 

“Ohh, Mycroft, I'm close--”

 

“Hush, love, I know. Just let go, cum for me.” He sank his tongue in his brother's welcoming heat, pulling on his cock and working the head mercilessly until Sherlock was yelling out, pushing urgently into his fist, his whole body trembling as he came. “Good, just like that darling. My pretty boy, my love.” Mycroft laid kisses on his brother's back, on his shoulders and neck, more for his own benefit than Sherlock's, who was currently too out of it to pay any heed to Mycroft. He felt hot, possessive satisfaction at the thought, something that Sherlock evoked in him all too often to be entirely comfortable but that he'd long since been forced to resign himself to.

 

He brushed the dark curls off from Sherlock's face, pressing a kiss on his cheek and in the corner of his lips. Sherlock's hand came up to push him away half-heartedly.

 

“Disgusting.”

 

Mycroft's lips twitched. “Oh, don't be childish, my dearest. It's hardly the worst thing you ever tasted.”

 

Sherlock opened his eyes lazily, pushing himself onto his side and accepting the kiss this time. It was easily noticeable, his fascination with the taste that lingered on Mycroft's tongue. Oh, they would have to do this again. Mycroft cradled a hand behind his head and didn't let him go, claiming his mouth with deep, exploring kisses until they were both panting for breath.

 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow once Mycroft released him, amusement in the corner of his mouth. “May I get to solving your terrorist problem now, or were you planning to keep me in your bed the whole day?”

 

Mycroft hummed. “Tempting.”

 

Sherlock's eyes trailed over his body. His gaze was surprisingly unguarded, showing not only desire but also affection. If Mycroft had previously had any doubts about whether Sherlock had missed him, they were laid to rest now. He was touched by being shown that much, which was what he blamed his impulsiveness on later, but when Sherlock looked back at him, Mycroft pulled him into an embrace.

 

“I love you,” he murmured to Sherlock's neck, too much of a coward to look at his brother when he said it, but didn't try to stop him when Sherlock pulled back immediately to stare at him.

 

“Are we doing that now?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, but the look in his eyes told Mycroft he was pleased. Mycroft still couldn't help but to flush slightly.

 

“It's hardly without precedent.”

 

“Technically true, but we aren't in a medical facility or my childhood bedroom this time.”

 

“Thank goodness for that.” Mycroft laid a brief kiss on his brother's smirking lips. “Now be quiet.”

 

Sherlock pouted, his eyes dancing with mirth. “But what if I want to tell you that I love you too?”

 

Mycroft felt his cheeks heat up. His heart was pounding faster, the whole thing was utterly ridiculous, but he couldn't help but smile. “Especially then.”

 

Sherlock laughed, free and joyful, before bouncing up from the bed and heading towards the shower. Mycroft watched him go and waited to hear the shower running.

 

“Welcome home, Sherlock Holmes.”

 

 

 


End file.
